Of Ryals & Relationships
by The Cat's Whiskers
Summary: a trader, Jeren, develops a crush on a certain halfKlingon engineer. The trouble is not that she's already Tom Paris' lover, the trouble is she's not exactly beating Jeren off with a Batleth...
1. Buyer Beware

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 1 – Buyer Beware**

"We will inform our Captain," Seven told the unctuously smiling trader chillingly, before falling into step beside Lt Torres and Ensign Wildman, the three women beginning to make their way through the market towards the spaceport.

"That P'targh!" grumbled B'Elanna. "_Five_ Beryllium Ryals for a pair of power couplings! The Captain will never go for that."

"We may have no alternative, and we should act with speed on any decision to purchase supplies here," Seven replied, "I have ascertained that this is a particularly bad period of the annual cycle to be a buyer; last week that trader was selling power couplings at three and a half Beryllium Ryals per pair. In the next few days, the price may even rise."

"Like the…being said, it's a seller's market," Ensign Samantha Wildman pointed out regretfully. "Whoever set up a trading station on this planet had to have had Ferengi DNA in him somewhere. The dust storms kicked out by that dark nebula can do a lot of damage, and it's only sensible to make repairs as soon as possible, instead of risking it across so many light-years to the next trading station. It's Hobson's Choice."

"There is no crewmember named Hobson," Seven corrected her.

She smiled slightly, "'Hobson's choice' is an old Earth expression, Seven. Basically it refers to being faced with a 'choice' which is no genuine choice at all. If you want to know the exact details, Tom Paris is the 20th Century history buff."

"I will consult him," Seven commented, unaware of the flicker of irritation that had unwittingly crossed B'Elanna's face at the mention of her lover, or of how she had dropped a couple of steps behind and was casting an resentfully wistful eye over the many goods available for purchase, unfortunately all at exorbitant prices.

Ryzak was a small, mostly desert planet on the edge of this system, but as Sam Wildman so accurately pointed out it had a significant edge on other trade and commerce places. A spatial rift on one side forced ships to travel close to a dark nebula on the other side that kicked out tremendous cosmic dust storms. Since anyone with any sense kept their spaceship in tip-top repair, coming out of the narrow stellar 'channel' to find a trading outpost right there was initially a godsend.

The large, sprawling, but extravagantly appointed city surrounding the spaceport showed how good business was. Buildings of costly material ornately carved littered the landscape, luxury goods abounded; recreation facilities were everywhere and even the smallest shop seemed opulently appointed. She noticed a small establishment on the main thoroughfare, not quite as tackily ostentatious as most, with some sort of unusual cylindrical object set prominently on the front counter. Always interested in unfamiliar gadgets, B'Elanna began to try and work out what it was.

"Hey, watch out!"

Seven and Ensign Wildman turned at B'Elanna's cry as she suddenly hurried forward and jabbed at a metal cylinder object on a store's front counter, causing a section to slide out and the cylinder to change hue from a faintly glowing blue to a dull grey. A figure hurried forward from within the shop. About 6'3" tall, he was humanoid with mottled, hairless skin that faintly resembled Neelix's skin patterns, and his eyes were a bright canary yellow around his pupils. He did however have short, spiky jet-black hair on his head that matched the colour of the voluminous, floor-length tunic he was wearing.

"Oh, what is happening?" He looked anxiously from the cylinder to B'Elanna.

"The power regulator relay was failing, it could have blown up your store and half the sidewalk, you need to keep an eye on it," B'Elanna chastised.

His/it's eyes widened. "Oh, by Ghahah! Thank you most assuredly…?"

"B'Elanna Torres, of the Voyager; it was nothing."

"But yes, my foolish mistake could have resulted in damage, even injury had you not come along. Please, allow me to give you some Ryals –"

Embarrassed by the alien's obvious gratitude, B'Elanna made a sharp negating gesture with her hand. "No, really, I was glad to help…"

He made a forward bow, "Then please, accept my sincerest gratitude for –"

"B'Elanna!"

She turned at the call, unaware her irritation at the peremptory tone flared briefly in her eyes. Tom Paris and Harry Kim, along with Ensign Vorik and Lt Susan Nicoletti had arrived about twenty feet away and were comparing notes with Seven and Ensign Wildman.

"Come on, we're heading back to Voyager," Tom urged with clear impatience.

Nodding her head once sharply, B'Elanna gave the alien 'man' a swift, polite smile before going to join her friends, thus not seeing the way his eyes changed from canary yellow to deep mustard, almost green, as if he had just received some information inaudible to anyone else. It watched the 'Voyagers', as the locals called them, walk away in a group towards the space port, an expression of great thoughtfulness on his face.

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	2. A Fair Trade

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 2 – A Fair Trade**

"We can replicate the Beryllium but that's not the point," Captain Janeway commented wearily to her First Officer, Commander Chakotay, on the Voyager's bridge. "We need to be conserving our equipment and supplies as far as possible, and replicating sufficient Beryllium to meet such extortionate prices cuts down on the viability of trading here even further. On the other hand nothing is more demoralising than having to cut life support to half the ship and have people sleeping in dormitories with no holodeck or replicator rations."

Chakotay commiserated, having received the depressing report from the group on how expensive everything was, but the traders were in control, having all comers over a barrel and knowing it fully. There was no way Kathryn Janeway would continue past this point even though the dust storms' damage to Voyager was comparatively minor. She would never forgive herself if a crewmember was seriously injured or killed by a system they didn't repair simply because of cost.

"Like Ensign Wildman said, Hobson's Choice," he admitted.

"Yes…remind me to get Tom Paris to _explain _that," Janeway sighed. "Alright, if we pare down our list of requirements to the bare minimum of –"

"Captain, we are being hailed from the surface." Tuvok interposed softly.

"I thought everyone was back on board?" Chakotay queried.

"That is correct; we have no personnel on Ryzak."

"Greetings? Oh, B'Elanna Torres? Greetings?" a voice trilled uncertainly.

"On-screen." Janeway and Chakotay both stood up. "I'm Captain Janeway of Voyager?"

"Ah, you command the Voyagers?" the speaker was a tall alien with short, spiky black hair that made him look like a talking yard-brush.

At least, Janeway mentally thought the alien was male; there was something about him that seemed to emanate a masculine sort of aura. "That is so. May I enquire as to what you want with my Chief Engineer?"

The alien's eyes widened. "_Chief_? Oh, I had no idea she carried such rank in your hierarchy…well, er, foredate –"

"I'm sorry?"

"Ah…er the day before this one?" the alien clarified. "B'Elanna Torres stopped my Regulation Module from overloading and exploding. It would have been very nasty. However, it does need a complete overhaul and I was wondering, if perhaps, B'Elanna might…?"

"We were intending to leave this system as soon as our business was concluded. B'Elanna is really very busy preparing our own systems for departure, Mr…?"

"Jeren, Trader Jeren," he responded, "But please Captain, I wouldn't ask this work for nothing. B'Elanna refused any reward for her actions, the least I could do is offer some recompense. What about plasma coils at fifty percent discount per pair – a quarter Beryllium Ryal?"

Both of Tuvok's eyebrows rose at this and beside her Janeway felt Chakotay's body stiffen. "A quarter Ryal per pair; that seems most generous, Jeren…" she said, thinking furiously.

"Not at all, I'm still making a profit at a quarter Ryal. Believe me, Captain, were I to _give_ you most of my inventory in thanks for what B'Elanna did, it would still cost me less than the price of having to repair my premises and fight off legal charges had anyone been injured – or worse – in any explosion."

"Mr Jeren, I will provisionally accept your offer and allow B'Elanna to do the work, if she's agreeable." Janeway said cautiously, "Would you also happen to stock power couplings?"

"Of course, my business is spacecraft parts and maintenance supplies. I could send you my complete stock inventory and a price list immediately, if you wish?"

"That would be appreciated." Janeway said, "I will speak to B'Elanna now myself."

The communication link ended and a second later Harry Kim's station beeped. "He's sent us the inventory," the Ensign confirmed, forwarding it to the computer console in the separating arm between the Captain's chair and First Officer's.

Both peered at it eagerly and then raised incredulous eyes to each other. "Two Beryllium Ryals per pair of plasma couplings? That other trader was going to charge us six Ryals per pair!" Janeway said gleefully as she straightened back up. "Janeway to Engineering!"

"Here, Captain?" Lt Torres voiced sounded clearly over the internal comlink.

Janeway explained the situation and B'Elanna was happy to take a look at Jeren's cylinder again, "…but depending on the problem it could take me several days, even if it can be fixed." She warned finally.

"Thank-you, Janeway out." The Captain turned to the two men who were respectively her second and third in command, and above all her most trusted counsellors. "Chakotay? Tuvok?"

"I'd say yes, Captain," Chakotay recommended. "At these prices Jeren can supply 95 of everything we need at less than half the price of what everyone else is charging. We can't pass that up even if we do have to stay a little longer, and besides it would do everyone good to be able to have a few days of R&R on an actual planet. After a while not even several hours on a holodeck can erase the knowledge you've been trapped for months in a giant tin can."

"I concur with Commander Chakotay," commented Tuvok. "In time terms of our reaching the Alpha Quadrant, remaining here for two or three extra days is insignificant, and it would be psychologically and operationally beneficial for as many of the crew as possible to be able to spend more than a merely a few hectic hours on a planet."

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	3. Brunette Bombshell

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 3 – Brunette Bombshell**

"Go ahead, B'Elanna," Captain Janeway acknowledged the transmission from Ryzak's surface.

"Captain, I can repair the module but it will take me a day longer than I anticipated?" B'Elanna explained.

"Not a problem," Janeway smiled, "by the time you get back all the new parts Jeren is supplying will have been fitted and all you will have to do is inspect them before we depart." She suppressed an actual grin at the memory of how half the engineering crew were acting more terrified of B'Elanna's incipient inspection than a Borg attack.

B'Elanna however merely nodded, distracted by the interesting engineering puzzle she was engrossed in. "Thank you, Captain. Torres out."

Janeway returned to the Captain's chair, waiting with perfectly concealed impatience for the end of the duty shift when she could retire to her Ready Room and allow herself to be simply Kathryn. But she couldn't prevent some of her cheer showing through. For once this was proving to be a pit-stop without death and disaster. Jeren's supplies were fairly priced and of good, sturdy quality. They could make up for any extra time spent here once they got going again and the crew were positively giddy with having nearly a full Earth week of rest and relaxation outside the 'giant tin can'…

On the surface, B'Elanna turned back to the cylinder, which had packed a lot of moving parts into its squat three-foot-high frame. Still, things were progressing nicely. B'Elanna picked up her empty cup and poured herself another cup of Zerin, since Jeren was out at one of the cargo depots. Despite his somewhat nervous nature, she liked him. Zerin was a pale, golden hot liquid that had much in common with the finer varieties of Earth tea – the delicate, refreshing Chinese and Japanese blends. Neelix had already purchased several of the plants from Jeren and had accompanied him to the food halls along with Sam Wildman, where the alien helpfully identified a variety of juicy fruits and flavoursome vegetables that would augment their food supplies. Anything that _wasn't _Leola root, as Tom had joked, would be joyously accepted.

B'Elanna felt a twinge momentarily of resentment. She didn't expect Tom to lavish adoring attention on her 24/7 for goodness' sake, but it would be nice occasionally to get higher on his list than the next chapter of _Captain Proton_, upgrading the Delta Flyer, working out new strategies for his endless game of pool against Chakotay at Sandrine's, or whatever shiny new toy distracted him next.

Maybe she should cut her losses, she mused absently as she fiddled with a circuit relay…she had heard her grandmother say - her human grandmother Mama Torres to her father - one day when she was four, during Aunt Sophia's wedding reception on Talis Minor...she'd heard such an unusual note of sadness in Mama's voice, though she hadn't really understood what her grandmother had meant when she told B'Elanna's father that it was 'easier to be with someone for the wrong reasons than it is to be alone for the right ones.' At least, not until her father had walked away without a backward glance a year later.

Maybe she was letting her fears of loss and abandonment get the better of her again, clinging to Tom instead of acknowledging she wasn't really important to him and moving on –Richard Platt had always had a bit of extra warmth in his smile, and back when they'd been in the Maquis, Lt Tabor had let it be known he was not averse to a closer relationship. Tom never seemed to notice if she made an effort to look feminine instead of as if she'd just spent the night scrubbing the warp plasma manifolds…Unaware of the shadow that slipped away from the shop, she continued working, soon engrossed.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the price tag on the bracelet – ten Blue Quartz Ryals for that? He wasn't that besotted over Megan Delaney. He deliberately moved away from Mr 'Smirking Dangerously Close To No Longer Being My Best Friend' Paris over there and examined some of the cheaper but unfortunately correspondingly tackier items.

"Harry human! Harry human!"

He looked up and smiled as Jeren came towards him. As usual the alien seemed to be living on nervous energy; his attitude was typically uncertain and cautious, in fact he reminded Harry a lot of the way he himself had been when he stepped aboard Voyager for the first time with Tom, so green he was emerald and pitifully naïve. Aware of Tom's amusement and that the blond would have moved behind a concealing display stand to let 'good old Harry' deal with any problems, he politely asked, "Just call me Harry, Jeren?"

"Indeed." Jeren cleared his throat and then stage-whispered conspiratorially, "I was wondering if I might be permitted to use one of Voyager's replicators?"

Harry instantly frowned. Allowing even the most-friendly and helpful _seeming_ alien access to Voyager and any one of it's systems was something Captain Janeway was highly unlikely to sanction unless for particularly dire reasons. "I'm sorry, I don't think that would be possible…but surely you can get what you need right here?" he gestured at the thriving, bustling markets around them.

But Jeren shook his head, "I cannot, Harry. This is a matter…most delicate and sensitive…"

"What is it exactly you need?" Harry's curiosity was piqued.

"A single specimen of a plant native to your home world," Jeren against stage-whispered, "called a red rose."

"A single red rose?" Harry repeated. "What on earth for?"

Jeren cleared his throat and admitted, "I have been told that the offering of a flower to the female is a customary prelude to the courtship ritual amongst your species…"

_Courtship ritual?_ "Er…I don't quite follow…"

Jeren sighed deeply, "I find B'Elanna human most _attractive_…"

Harry didn't have an empathic bone in his body but he didn't need one to know that Tom Paris, unseen inside this over-priced junk store, had just lost his smile and his attitude of amused insouciance. In fact he could feel his friend's eyes glaring into his back. _Oh boy_. "Jeren…I…er…that is…"

"I have noted how her hair catches the light and reflects it back and how when she smiles at me her lips seem a most luscious _Idarii _pink…"

_Uh-oh_. Harry knew he had to stop the other from rhapsodising; he was surprised the back of his uniform wasn't smouldering from the heat of Tom's outraged gaze. Any second now he was going to come storming out. "I'm sorry, Jeren, but I'm afraid B'Elanna already has a mate on Voyager."

"Oh…really…" Jeren stopped in mid-flow and looked so disappointed that Harry couldn't help feel for him… "I do apologise…B'Elanna never mentioned that…"

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	4. The GreenEyed Monster

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 4 – The Green-Eyed Monster**

B'Elanna drank the last of her cup of Zerin as she finished recounting her day cheerfully to Harry and Tom as they sat together as their usual trio in the Mess Hall. Harry, however, could see that B'Elanna was so interested in her new toy that she was oblivious to the ever-growing thundercloud above Tom Paris's head, or such clues as the precise movements with which he speared the Delta Quadrant's equivalent of pasta quills, clearly wishing he was stabbing something, or rather, _someone_, instead.

"You enjoyed yourself, obviously." Tom cut in sharply.

Puzzled and slightly irritated by the obvious edge to Tom's tone, B'Elanna chose to ignore it and take the statement at face value. "Yes…" she carried on describing her wrestling with the intricate machinery, "…then the circuitry relay disintegrated and singed my fingers –"

"Aaah," Tom snarled in mock sympathy, "I'm sure Jeren kissed it better."

B'Elanna paused, still confused, but Paris was clearly spoiling for a fight and she was only too happy to give him one right now. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why is one little cylinder taking you so long to fix?" Tom instead challenged. "Or do you have another reason for wanting to hang around this dump?"

"It's a completely alien device," B'Elanna pointed out with the beginnings of real anger, "and if you've got something to say, come right out with it, _Paris_."

Harry couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at he was a spectator at point blank range.

"Care to share the joke?" B'Elanna's tone was taking on that genuinely dangerous edge.

"Jeren came to find me today, he wanted access to Voyager's replicators." Harry reported with glee.

"What did he want to replicate?"

"A single red rose."

B'Elanna still didn't get it. "So?"

Lips twitching, Harry spelled out, "Jeren has a serious crush on you, B'Elanna."

There was a moment of silence and Tom's face went from peeved to murderous as B'Elanna digested this information with pleased surprise for just a fraction too long. Rashly he tried to give his lady-love an order. "Send someone else to finish repairing the damn thing, you stay on Voyager."

"Don't be ridiculous!" B'Elanna snapped, now as irritated as he was. "Jeren's a nice…being…that's all there is to it!"

"I'll bet!" tossing down his fork, Tom surged upright and stomped off, his angry demeanour causing several crewmembers to pull aside and cast looks towards B'Elanna that could be categorised as 'knowing curiosity'. Everyone was accustomed to the volatility of the Paris-Torres merger. As Tabor put it, who needed space soaps like _Starfleet Frontier_ when you had that pair around?

"P'targh!" B'Elanna muttered to his departing back, concentrating on her meal; she had enjoyed herself today bending her mind to a different problem, and she wasn't going to let an obstreperous male spoil it for her. Besides, where did Tom Paris get off acting like it was unbelievable that anyone else would find her attractive?

Harry concentrated on eating his dinner and not laughing aloud, aware that Tom was going to be hell to live with for the next day or so until he got over his snit. B'Elanna's unwise dismissal of him as 'silly' would provoke a litany of angry complaining to his favourite agony uncle – Harry S L Kim. Still that was part of being classed as the 'best friend' of Tom _and_ B'Elanna; you had to take the rough with the smooth and accept being caught in the middle sometimes.

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	5. Attack of the Green Eyed Monster

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 5 – Attack of the Green-Eyed Monster**

"Tom!" Harry made the protest even though he knew it was futile as he managed to keep up with the miffed blond as he stalked through the bustling market.

Many of the traders, now aware that none of Voyager's Beryllium would be lining their _koufas_, shot them dirty looks, but the pleasure and recreational facilities on Ryzak were still maintaining their love affair with Voyager's crew. In fact, Harry and Tom had come down here supposedly with Crewman Jor, Lt Tabor, Ensign Vorik, Lt Ayala, Ensign Wildman and sundry other crew for an afternoon at one of the "sports centres". Tom and Harry had spent an hour playing 'squash' (one game won each) then half an hour swimming, followed by a massage by an alien creature that didn't talk but which possessed divine paddle like appendages that worked miracles on aching muscles. Then they'd steamed and finished up with a light snack meal that contained not a single familiar item but which was very nice.

Unfortunately the meal had been accompanied by a pot of Zerin, and Harry had watched Tom flick instantly from affable to brooding again and felt his heart sink. He had had his ear bent by Tom virtually all their previous duty shift and it had taken him a solid hour of talking to persuade his friend that he was overreacting. That was the trouble with Tom; he was intelligent but mercurial most of the time, his mind jumping from idea to idea in a way that the plodders could only envy, but when he did get mired in some sinkhole of brooding or fixated on some obsession he took some pushing to get him moving on again.

Harry was the one person who knew the right tricks of when and how to exert pressure to 'flick' him out again or how to coax him forward once more; trouble was, Harry knew his methods for the 'care and feeding' of Thomas Eugene Paris took time. Back on Voyager, with several solid hours of being able to listen and advise and persuade, Harry would have had no problem in calming Tom down. But right now Tom was clearly in full anxiety mode and obsessing big time.

So Harry did his job – he was the faithful sidekick; his role was to have Tom's back, provide support/aid, initiate what damage control he could and if the worst came to the worst, save Tom from himself – though the last one wasn't always possible, as evinced by the brief period where Tom had got himself broken to Ensign before making Lieutenant again. As he walked beside Tom towards Jeren's store, Harry ruefully reflected that it was typical of his luck that of all the females aboard Voyager, Jeren had to home in on the only one Tom Paris was romantically involved in.

Thankfully Tom didn't have that many things he obsessed about or got hung up over. There was his being a pilot and the inherent competitiveness which made him want to be the 'flyboy' in the Delta Quadrant as he had been in the Alpha Quadrant, but now he had a star-ship literally at his fingertips _and_ Janeway had allowed him to create the Delta Flyer, that obsession was usually channelled into upgrading his 'baby'.

There was Chakotay and the Captain; she had seen past the self-protecting arrogance and indifference to the deeply hurt man beneath and given him the opportunity for redemption. As for Chakotay…it was a complex relationship, marred by beliefs of betrayal and mutual antagonism, _but_…that little three-letter word that was so profound. Harry wasn't quite clear on the details of how Chakotay's life belonged to Tom, as it was one of the few things the blond absolutely never discussed - although to Harry's admiration, since it had said a lot for Tom's fledgling emotional maturity that he had not openly gloated over Chakotay's debt of honour to him. Often the exchanges between the two had a sharp edge and there was frequently a challenging subtext, but when the chips were down Tom never failed to treat Chakotay with the deference due the position of First Officer regardless of who wore the pips, and had often supported Chakotay when others had rebelled, challenged or unfairly maligned the man.

Penultimate there was Harry himself. He realised initially it had only been bored amusement that made Tom take the innocent lost lamb that was Ensign Kim under his wing. But after that alternate reality when he had been caught in the alien time stream and found himself back on Earth with Danny Bird lost aboard the Voyager, Harry had had an epiphany and realised that he had an extraordinarily subtle but massively profound and important role to play in Tom Paris's existence. 'Looking after Harry', 'setting an example for Harry', 'meeting Harry's expectations', all were a defining part of how Tom Paris looked at the world, and without hubris, Harry knew he made Tom a better person. Only he alone now remembered that alternate reality, and the pity he had felt for that Tom Paris, a drunken drifter spending his life in the darkness, moving from pool hall to pool hall as long as anyone would pay his bar tab, directionless and purposeless.

But that had been because that Tom had nothing to live up to, he had no Harry to make him ashamed to drink on duty (oh yes, Tom didn't know he knew about those early slips and never would); nobody who Tom didn't want to be disappointed in him when he was foolish or insolent. On the shuttle, when Tom had sacrificed his own life to send Harry back to the 'real time', that had been the real Tom Paris, in his element when he had someone that needed him, that depended on his skills and his quick thinking. Shortly after B'Elanna and Tom had finally got it together, Harry had realised Ensign Orlando was depressed and homesick and since he was the same age began to spend more time with the man in an effort to cheer him up. But regardless of his budding relationship with B'Elanna, Tom had acted deviously and ruthlessly to hook Orlando up with another group of friends and monopolise Harry's attention for himself. Orlando had taken the 'he's _my_ friend' hint.

But his ultimate obsession was of course B'Elanna Torres. Harry bit back as sigh as Jeren's store came into view as the crowds thinned. Incredibly considering the packed markets, the store seemed to be empty at the moment; Harry mentally groaned – a bevy of customers would have forced Tom to be on his best Starfleet Lieutenant behaviour. He would never risk Captain Janeway's ire – or her disappointment – by damaging the repute of the Federation in front of an already hyper-critical audience. There was no point trying to talk sense into Tom, he didn't _have_ any where B'Elanna was concerned.

Okay, that was a little harsh, but sometimes…in the early days Harry had certainly wanted to knock their heads together, at least once he'd got over the shock that Tom was genuinely interested (definition of same being 'more than a one night stand') in B'Elanna. Tom was a handsome man always ready to enjoy a little female company and there were far more pleasant females aboard Voyager than the often almost-psychotic half-Klingon who, at least in the early days, only Chakotay could control.

Maybe that had been the initial pique of interest – Tom's desire to dominate and manipulate Chakotay translated into an urge to be the only _other_ male aboard who could exercise any control of B'Elanna's actions. However, it had rapidly become more than that. Harry had watched Tom's initial purely sexual interest deepen and grow into a fixation on B'Elanna that precluded anything else. Incredibly it was a relationship that worked; Harry had often secretly wondered about how the doctor's psycho-sexual report on Tom would read, for at first he himself had been very sceptical of the affair's longevity. He had never thought a human male of Tom's self-confidence and sexual assuredness would tolerate being the submissive mate once the novelty of that initial 'my very own dominatrix' had worn off. Harry knew several people were astonished that Tom Paris had never had any apparent problem being the submissive sexual partner, though he had quickly slapped down any rude enough to try and get gossip out of himself on the issue. Indeed, for all their fights and passionate sparking off each other, B'Elanna was the centre of Tom's universe.

Which was what made him so dangerous at times like this, when a clear and present danger to one of his few obsessions hove into view. Tom immediately tended to go into Attack Pattern Alpha mode and prepare to fire all photon torpedoes – and damn the consequences. The more deeply Tom felt something, the more extreme his reactions were about anything that affected it.

B'Elanna was oblivious to the approach of her mate as she talked with Jeren, who had been charmingly apologetic that morning when she arrived for any embarrassment he'd caused her.

"That's it for today, but I should be finished in two days tops and you can sell it as new by the time I've done with it." She told Jeren.

He smiled gratefully, then reached out and placed one hand on her forearm as she would have turned away to gather her tools. His hand was particularly warm through the sleeve of her uniform. "I do appreciate your kind help B'Elanna, and without wishing you to be uncomfortable in any way, I just want you to know that I am very grateful."

B'Elanna felt her cheeks heat and not just because it was suddenly rather warm in the store. It had been forever since she had been looked at, even by Tom, with that definite hint of male appreciation, and for once she was just going to enjoy being given a compliment by someone who was so thoughtful and appreciative of her efforts.

"B'Elanna!"

The sudden shout made her jump up and back slightly and she was unaware of Jeren removing his hand hastily from her arm at the noise; she was thus oblivious to the guilty overtones the tableau seemed to portray to the suspicious imagination of one Tom Paris.

"What's wrong?" B'Elanna blurted, her head filled with sudden fears of warp core breaches and other catastrophes.

"What's wrong? Why don't you tell me? I arrive to find you…_canoodling_." Tom spluttered; behind him Harry winced.

B'Elanna stiffened and somehow seemed to swell slightly, both at the tone and the phraseology. Human outrage over his suspicious assumptions mingled with Klingon defensive guilt over the fact that she had enjoyed the compliment from a male who was not her mate. As always when B'Elanna was threatened, she attacked. "Get your mind out of the gutter, human, not everyone is as mentally dirty as your brain obviously is?"

"You're coming back to Voyager with me, right now!"

"What? Why stop there, why don't you just try and hit me over the head and drag me back to your cave, P'targh!"

"Good idea! Harry, pass me that me that pipe."

"Try it you pathetic _man_ and I'll break both your legs."

"You won't be able to if I break your arms first!"

There was a high-pitched shrill and a mini-dust-cloud as Harry's phaser blast into the ceiling brought bits of it down on Tom and B'Elanna.

"Enough!" Harry censured. "Tom, our duty shift starts in one hour and if you make us late, I'll hit you over the head myself. B'Elanna," he softened his tone.

"I'm going shopping with Seven and Sam and Naomi Wildman," B'Elanna interrupted, "and I _won't_ see you later, Paris."

"Good." Retorted Tom, thoroughly infuriated. "Come on, Harry, we're leaving."

With an apologetic glance at Jeren, Harry followed his friend out. Somehow, he didn't feel like laughing at the pair of them right at this moment.

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	6. Unanimated Suspense

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 6 – Unanimated Suspense**

Chakotay was deeply, deeply suspicious. He wished Tuvok were here at the Tactical station. For all the Vulcan's imperturbability got to him, he would only have to glance at the man for Tuvok to have raised one eyebrow in a silent agreement that confirmed, 'yes something is going on here'.

However, Tuvok and the Captain, along with Seven, B'Elanna and most of the senior bridge staff were down on Ryzak. Captain Janeway had been the only person aboard not to take advantage of the chance to have a break on the surface, and Chakotay had instantly known why – she would never take the risk of leaving Voyager vulnerable even in the most friendly and safest seeming of places; it was exactly the credo Chakotay had followed in the Maquis and it had saved his ships and crews more than once.

She had therefore resigned herself to missing out on the fun. Chakotay had enjoyed his time on the planet's surface, but his meditation and vision quests enabled him to cope better with long periods in the 'giant tin can' than most. So he had determined his Captain would have a break. The problem was that she couldn't go alone. Kathryn Janeway would not leave Voyager vulnerable, and the Voyagers would not tolerate their Captain being at risk. Other than himself, the one person Chakotay trusted absolutely to put Kathryn Janeway's safety above any and all other considerations including their own life was Tuvok, so he had explained the situation and suggested that Tuvok accompany her.

Double-teamed by Chakotay and Tuvok, the two people she trusted most in all the universe, she had given in, but the ease with which they accomplished their goal demonstrated explicitly to both men – as Tuvok had admitted to Chakotay later on in private – just how tired and worn down the captain was. She needed this break as desperately as the rest of the crew, probably more so.

As it happened, Chakotay was 98 unconcerned. Once she'd embraced the idea, the Captain had been positively ebullient about being pampered at one of Ryzak's spas for a day or two and hadn't kept it a secret. Besides Tuvok, nearly three quarters of Voyager's crew complement were currently on the surface, and funnily enough, nearly all of them seemed to been using the same recreational facilities as the Captain. Lt Ayala, who had been Chakotay's trusted second in the Maquis, had taken aside one of the city's blustering and posturing civil security types and explained in that quiet but chilling manner of his exactly _why_ so many of the Voyager crew happened to have some sort of hand-weaponry with them, and had had the being quaking in it's boots after painting a terrifying word-picture of the catastrophic consequences of the Voyager's revered captain being harmed in any fashion. In the olden times it used to be termed a 'ring of steel' or a 'bubble' of total protection, but Chakotay was confident it would be effective now.

Which brought him to his current certainty that something was up; the Bridge wasn't just awash with 'undercurrents', it was a flash flood of seething emotion, all of it emanating from the one constant irritant in his life, Tom Paris, currently at the helm. If there was anything that wound Chakotay up or resulted in him almost developing stress-ulcers, you could bet that Tom Paris would be in the thick of it somewhere. Chakotay was half-seriously convinced that Paris's primary mission in life was to drive Chakotay nuts.

But right now, Tom was being good. In fact, he was being positively angelic. No _sotto voce_ com-chatter with Harry that incrementally increased until he goaded Chakotay into being the 'killjoy' who ordered them to quiet down. No witty commentary on the planet, its populace, or their current situation. No barbed idle musings to get a rise out of Chakotay. With the repressing factors of both Janeway and Tuvok removed, Tom should have been in his element engaging Chakotay in the next battle of their ongoing war of wits. Chakotay wouldn't admit he sort of enjoyed the love-hate relationship between himself and Paris even under Cardassian torture, but he had to admit to himself a certain…level of concern.

Whatever the issue, Harry Kim was also in on it. That young man stood at his Ops station, diligently monitoring readings, but he kept a weather eye on Paris's rigid back with an expression of amusement mingled with exasperation.

Chakotay's mental musing was interrupted by a transmission from the surface, namely Crewman Orlando reporting that they were ready to shuttle up the last batch of supplies and equipment purchased from Jeren at Chakotay's order. The spaceport on Ryzak was a bit of a tight fit, and bringing the supplies up now would mean Tom manoeuvring the Voyager slightly to one side to allow the cargo shuttles docking room between it and the huge Wraxllyn freighter in the next docking ring berth. However, Chakotay was not a believer in procrastination, and was ever aware that despite the (for once) complete lack of trouble, there was still the outside possibility that Voyager would be forced to cut and run from Ryzak at a moment's notice.

He had no intention of paying for much-need supplies they might end up having to abandon if they needed to warp it fast out of here, so he told Orlando to send up the shuttles. "Tom, move us the right distance away from the Wraxllyn."

"Aye."

Chakotay's eyes narrowed at the flat, curt monosyllabic acknowledgement but then he raised his eyebrows in astonishment. Tom Paris, for all his faults (and Chakotay was happy to list these in full detail, with annotated sub-sections and footnotes) was probably the best pilot Chakotay had ever seen. Paris didn't 'operate' a ship's controls, he caressed them. His long fingers were like a delicate string concerto dancing, gliding and fluttering over the plastiglas consoles of anything he flew with the genius of any musical composer such as Mozart or Elgar.

Right now however, Tom's fingers stabbed at the key-command lights with the staccato jerkiness of a puppet and Chakotay winced as Tom finally hit one command light with such venom that the commander was amazed he didn't put his finger through the plastiglas altogether or at the very least crack it. About to issue a reprimand, he heard the faintest of sounds and decided to cast a beady eye at a certain Mr Kim instead; instantly Harry's eyes dropped away from Chakotay's cool gaze to his own console, but not before Chakotay had clearly seen the compressed lips and 'sucked-in' cheeks that personify someone who is desperately suppressing laughter.

Holding his peace, Chakotay remained silent as Tom completed the manoeuvre so as not to distract him, aware of its comparative difficulty. Over 85 of all accidents, prangs, collisions and scrapes suffered by spacecraft occurred at docking rings, in space dock, at spaceports, etc. Few people ever saw the outside of a spaceship up close enough to appreciate their tremendous size, even the smaller ships such as the Voyager counted as, being an Intrepid-class. People saw a ship from the surface, then travelled up to the spaceport in a nice comfortable shuttle, straight through boarding control and on board where they wandered around pleasantly decorated corridors no different to any planetary upscale hotel.

Flying a spaceship at Warp 5 in a straight line posed little challenge, but trying to manoeuvre something so huge in tiny increments in a tight space required extraordinary dexterity, total spatial awareness, consummate skill and that indescribable but essential something 'extra' that couldn't be learned, only received via a gift of genetics. Just as a ship's doctor outranked the Captain in medical matters, by Starfleet tradition any situation involving close-quarters manoeuvring, and always when within space dock, was the only occasion when the Con Officer outranked the Captain, so serious was their responsibility in keeping the ship in one piece.

The manoeuvre was executed flawlessly, but then Chakotay had expected no less. But before he could proffer the sincere praise on his lips, Paris turned in his chair and offered, "I'll can go down and help Orlando sort the inventory, so we can be ready to leave by tomorrow morning?"

Chakotay was glad he was sitting in his seat, since for a moment his brain refused to accept the input from his ears. _Volunteer_? Tom Paris, the original hard-partying playboy, was _voluntarily_ offering to undertake Freshman-cadet level duties that would provoke the breaking of actual sweat? _That's it, it's officially the Apocalypse_, Chakotay thought to himself, half expecting a huge LED message to flash up on the view-screen: ARMAGEDDON WILL START IN T-MINUS THIRTY SECONDS. YOU HAVE THAT LONG TO REACH MINIMUM SAFE DISTANCE, SO LONG SUCKER.

"That won't be necessary, Paris," he managed with heavy irony, "I'm sure Crewman Orlando can cope."

"Fine."

Chakotay stiffened at the insolent rejoinder as Paris swivelled back round in his chair to face the view-screen so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, but yet again, he reconsidered. Every sinew of the younger man's rigid back proclaimed he was a tension convention. Pour a bit of starch over him and you could have used him as a violin-string. Besides, it was the first flash of the real Tom Paris he'd seen, and that brief spark of typically veiled challenge, the patented Paris 'let's-see-how-far-I-can-push-Chakotay' usual operating mode was in a strange kind of way actually reassuring. So – for now – he would let it go.

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	7. Bloom of Contention

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 7 – Bloom of Contention**

"Hmm," B'Elanna vented the soft murmur of satisfaction as she checked her reflection yet again for any flaws.

She was an engineer; she was used to wearing pants rather than skirts - it was a lot easier to walk, run, crawl, wriggle, squirm, scrape, climb and haul yourself around an engineering deck; outside of work that attire was also a lot more suitable and convenient. Besides, she'd never really been put in skirts. Miral Torres was a full-blood Klingon, daughter of Miral, daughter Oholkah, daughter of Shaholu, of the Clan of Gathkor the Invincible, Sword-Bearer of the Nine Great Warriors of Horth, Keeper of the Chalice of Perpetual Pain, etc., etc…clothing with pretty _floral_ patterns wouldn't been placed within a light-year of her only daughter.

Nonetheless, it was occasionally, very rarely, _nice_ to dress in something that was designed for no other reason than to accentuate the feminine form's nicer features rather than functionality.

The senior crew had been invited to what the Captain called a _soiree _with some of the local Ryzak trader bigwigs. Feeling mellow after an afternoon of being manicured, pedicured, massaged, oiled and pampered, Captain Janeway had agreed – it was always best to keep in with the locals if you could. The only issue was that uniforms of any civil or military designation were completely _passé, _and a serious diplomatic _faux pas_, as wearing uniforms would imply that the Voyagers did not believe their hosts' security personnel were competent enough to handle any trouble. So Janeway had accordingly instructed her people to comply, while of course finding some way to holster their phasers on their person unnoticeably, just in case.

Actually, it had all been rather fun. Though only the senior staff were going, to B'Elanna's relief, the female contingent of the lower decks had relished the opportunity to kit out the female attendees appropriately – especially one fashion-challenged semi-Klingon. Although B'Elanna had tried to instil a little fear: '_I am not one of your daughter's dress-up dolls, Ensign Wildman!'_ it didn't seem to have worked that well. B'Elanna had intended something floor length, concealing, black and utilitarian but Crewman Jor had practically started to purr over this burgundy velvet thing and Ensign Wildman had simply ignored the hesitant protests of B'Elanna and even the skittish of Seven of Nine.

Still…B'Elanna gave one last twirl, admitting that the dress made her feel very _pleased_ in some indefinable way even though it seemed to show acres of flesh. It was completely strapless, and the décolletage was a shallow V-cut that seemed to only cup the lower half of her breasts, before the 'back' of the dress, what little there was of it, dipped down to just cover the lower part of her spine; the dress then came in at the waist before flaring out slightly in waving folds to just below knee length. Somehow, Ensign Wildman had been too busy with everyone else to get round to replicating a shawl or jacket. She had from somewhere produced this matching set of jewellery; a pendant necklace, earrings, bracelet, ring and wrist-timepiece of rubies and gold that had apparently been a wedding anniversary gift from her Katarian husband, the father Naomi had never met.

Satisfied that despite her disadvantaging brow ridges, she would look presentable alongside the truly beautiful women present such as Seven of Nine and of course Captain Janeway, B'Elanna turned her attention back to the infuriating box. Jeren had given Vorik a small box of light relays as spares for engineering, refusing to accept any charge despite B'Elanna's urgings. Unfortunately, the opening mechanism was faulty, and Vorik had been unable to get it to work, so had given it to B'Elanna. Prior to having a sonic shower and dressing ready for this evening, B'Elanna had also tried her best, but nothing happened when she pressed the release button. Returning the box to Jeren because it was faulty would be unforgivably churlish but they could do with spare relays because they went through those faster than about everything else; nor did B'Elanna want to have to lie when Jeren inevitably asked her if the relays had been the correct type, but she couldn't double-check if she couldn't open…the…damn…thing!

With a barely audible _whoosh_ the doors of their quarters slid back and The Most Hateful Male Ever, a.k.a. Tom Paris, walked in. He checked at the sight of her, and B'Elanna experienced a frisson of smugness at the instant male response she saw in his eyes as they got a load of her outfit before he went all po-faced and self-righteous again.

"Is the bathroom free?" he asked stiltedly.

What did he expect her to say? That she'd got all dressed up like this _first_, and _now_ she was going to do her ablutions? Merely answering that it was, B'Elanna concentrated on the more important priority of opening the box than of soothing Mr Ego's wounded pride, but it was still proving obstinate and she seriously considered taking a phaser to it.

"What are you doing?" Tom's puzzled tone broke into her concentration.

She looked up, realising that he'd had time to shower, shave and get dressed up in what he derogatorily termed the 'full penguin suit' of formal evening attire. He looked delicious, and once upon a time she'd have had a lot of fun jumping his bones for a quickie before they went out. _He should be so lucky_, was her only thought now. "Jeren threw in a box of relays for free, but the release button isn't working properly," B'Elanna summarised, ignoring the way his face darkened at the first part but then smirked at the second part of her explanation; _so childish_ – wait a minute, had the lid moved a little?

She tried again, oblivious to Tom's words as he adjusted his jacket and checked out his own reflection. She must have caught it right, for the lid suddenly sprang up and back as she pressed the release button in as hard as she was able. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched in surprise at the contents.

"….all, I suppose." Tom stopped as it dawned on him that he was talking to himself but then he took in the look of astonishment on B'Elanna's face as she stared into the box she'd managed to open.

"B'Elanna?"

She didn't answer, instead placing one hand inside the box and bringing out…a bloom. It rested on her palm; about the size of a baseball and a perfect semi-sphere in shape. It resembled that unpronounceable flower…Harry had cousins who used the symbol in honour of their connection to the Japanese Imperial Family who used the same emblem…the Chrysalis Throne – no, the Chrysanthemum Throne. It looked very similar to a Chrysanthemum, but was instead a glowing rainbow of soft pastel hues, as if someone had painted it baby pink, lemon, peach, aquamarine and cerulean, and then lacquered every petal with a dusting of silver glitter.

"_A gesture of my appreciation for all your fine work, which is as perfect as you_."

B'Elanna murmured the words almost under her breath and Tom realised she was reading something – Jeren must have included a note…Unaware his hands were clenched into fists, Tom gave the hateful thing a glare that should have reduced it to smouldering ash, before stalking forward and trying to take it from B'Elanna.

She pushed his hand away, standing up and sheltering the bloom with her other hand as she kept it in her palm, and glaring at him. "What are you _doing?_"

"Incinerating a bio-hazard!" Tom snapped sharply. "We have no way of telling what could be infesting every millimetre of those petals."

"Absolutely nothing!" B'Elanna was outraged and out of patience with his antics. "This box had to pass through two micro-decontamination scans and quarantine to get from the surface to Voyager just like everything else. There's more likely to be a bio-hazard from Neelix's cooking!"

"You're not seriously going all giggly over a _flower_!" Tom scorned rashly.

The situation deteriorated rapidly from thereon.

_To be continued…_

© 2005, C D Stewart


	8. Agony Uncle

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 8 – Agony Uncle**

"All systems are up to full power and we're ready to depart." Chakotay smiled as he gave Captain Janeway the status report.

This rest-stop had done her – done them all – the world of good. Her cheeks glowed like she was 16 again and she sat on the couch in her ready room with purpose and sparkles in her eyes. Perhaps most beneficially, she had a cup of hot Zerin on the table instead of her perpetual coffee pot; Chakotay decided not to pre-emptively mention the doctor's increasing muttered threats to make her go cold turkey on her coffee intake, though he agreed wholeheartedly with the medical man in this case – drinking two or three large cups of coffee a day wasn't that bad….Kathryn Janeway, Mistress of Compulsive Overachievement, drank two or three large _pots_ of coffee. How she had escaped everything from permanent jitters, perpetual bouncing off the ceiling and the acid reflux from hell was a miracle.

"There are just a couple of things I want to tie up on the surface and then we can continue," she decided. "But not until tomorrow, let everyone enjoy one last afternoon of leisure before returning to the routine of life in the GTC."

"GTC?" Chakotay repeated questioningly.

She smirked, "It seems the crew have appropriated and 'acronymed' your 'Giant Tin Can' remark."

"Is 'acronymed' even a word?"

"I think the O.E.D. will forgive me this once," Janeway smiled. "Speaking of leisure though, I'm giving you the rest of this afternoon off – no arguments. You've worked wonders and you deserve a last fling with Ryzak's recreational facilities before we're resealed in the GTC."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

Taking his leave, Chakotay eschewed the turbo-lifts for the scenic route through Voyager as he was in no rush; there was nothing he was particularly desperate to try but he wasn't about to turn down the chance for a final bit of R&R before continuing their journey.

Hearing a faint, familiar hum, Chakotay paused on Deck 6 and went towards the holodecks. He frowned as he saw the red 'occupied' indicator light on the panel; any Voyager crew not on duty shifts were spending every spare minute down on Ryzak. "Computer, is holodeck 2 active?"

"Affirmative."

"What program?"

"'Chakotay Training Program 15 Beta.'"

Chakotay stiffened in surprise, since of course _he_ was Chakotay. "Who's running the program?"

"Lt Tom Paris."

Chakotay looked at the door; leaving aside for the moment questions of _how_ Paris had managed to access one of Chakotay's personal programs, it was unlike the irrepressible blond to be hiding away when there was fun to be had on the planet. Since it was _his_ program, Chakotay entered the holodeck and watched the scene for several moments before ordering, "Deactivate program."

Having just broken Jeren's jaw with another right cross, Tom lost his balance and stumbled as the alien suddenly vanished, along with Tom's boxing gloves and the ancient setting of the gym and boxing ring in which he had been pulverising Jeren. Clarity came as he turned around to find Chakotay standing not five feet away, arms folded and eyebrow raised in classic Tuvok style; _uh-oh, busted…damn, Chakotay was supposed be on duty shift for another hour I thought._

"I think you got him," Chakotay commented dryly and without apparent anger.

"I wish," muttered Tom before he could stop himself.

"What happened to get you this homicidal?" Chakotay inquired.

"Yesterday Jeren sent B'Elanna a box of circuit relays for the plasma conduits," Tom growled, "when she opened the box he'd put in a freshly plucked bloom and a note saying how much he appreciated what she'd done working on that cylinder."

"He was probably just being nice," Chakotay began.

"Come on, Chakotay! That was more than nice. Nice would be a thank-you and a handshake!" Tom ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "Anyway we…had an argument about it and she put the damn thing on her dresser. Right there; I swear it's gloating."

Chakotay managed by a major effort of will not to laugh aloud. "Well, okay, I see your point, but to be honest, my advice to you is: get used to it. B'Elanna is an attractive woman, and she's noticed. But she loves _you_ and she would never willingly hurt you, Tom, you have to know that."

"I do…I just…" Tom shook his head slowly, "The boot is definitely on the other foot, and it's not a nice feeling…"

Chakotay prudently said nothing, though he understood where Tom was coming from; though not conceited, he knew himself to be a handsome man, as was Tom Paris, though in a different way. Both were more used to being the object of feminine jealousies than having other males trying to cut in on their woman.

"…I never understood you using this program," Tom was saying, "but I had to let off steam or else I'd have done something I probably wouldn't have regretted…it felt so _good_ to pound him!"

Chakotay did chuckle, "That's why I use this program, Paris, to ease my overwhelming desire to beat some sense into certain people," he said pointedly.

"I'm going to have to do some pretty serious grovelling, aren't I?" Tom acknowledged.

"Oh yes, I foresee a lot of Klingon epithets in your near future," Chakotay found that the thought cheered him considerably, "and possibly heavy objects."

"Ack."

"Go and soothe the savage beast that is your girlfriend, Tom," Chakotay ordered, "but before you do - one thing: right now I'm going to ignore this violation of my privacy, in fact, it won't even make it into _any_ log that you obviously know how to bypass personal privacy encryptions such as the one you did to access this program. But if you _ever_ invade the privacy of any crewmember aboard this ship again I will put you in the same state as you did holo-Jeren. I expect better of you, Paris."

Tom had the grace to look sheepish, knowing he'd widely overstepped the mark. Accessing another person's private holo-program without consent was only one step away from breaking into their quarters and rifling through their underwear drawer. Chakotay would have been well within his rights to beat the hell of Tom, and when she found out why, the Captain would probably have given permission for him to do it again. If Chakotay had decided to make what Tom had done _official_, Captain Janeway would've bust him down to cadet and let him rot in the brig for the rest of the journey back home.

"Yes, sir," he said softly with genuine gratitude.

_To be concluded…_

© 2005, C D Stewart

OED The Oxford English Dictionary, generally considered to be (no pun intended) the last word on correct usage and context of the English Language.


	9. Resolutions & Revelations

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not particular spoilers other than this happens after _Thirty Days_ (but after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before _Drive_. Rating T/PG14

**OF RYALS & RELATIONSHIPS**

**Chapter 9 – Resolutions & Revelations**

_Breathe in…breathe out…I am calm…I am calm…_Tom repeated this mantra to himself as he approached his private quarters – their private quarters. Trouble was, he didn't believe himself. He entered to find the lights dimmed and didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that B'Elanna wasn't here. Almost unwillingly, he felt his eyes drawn to the innocuous bloom on the dresser. Tom hesitated and went over to it, already making up excuses in his head – I found a worm in it; I picked it up and accidentally squished it, no choice but to throw it away…it seemed to sparkle slightly and his fingers brushed the petals almost of their own volition.

"What are you doing!"

Tom jumped and spun round as B'Elanna appeared suddenly from the bathroom, wearing of all things that burgundy confection, which had had half the males present at that _soiree_ nearly walking into walls. He missed the way the petals glowed a deep orange as they absorbed the chemical signature of the male just as B'Elanna had been unaware of the colour-change on the underside of the petals as they rested on her palm when she'd picked it up.

"I was just looking –"

"Hah! You damage a single petal of my flower –"

"And _you'll_ do _what_?" Abruptly Tom had had enough; suddenly he felt incredibly edgy, a coiling tension he could not define. One thing he did know – B'Elanna was his, and he was going to make that fact very plain. He strode forward raising his hands swiftly but, instead of gripping her upper arms, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders, feeling the ball-joints through his hands, the warmth of her skin against his flexing fingers. "Who have you put this dress on again for?"

B'Elanna blinked rapidly, acutely aware of the extreme proximity of Tom's body to her own, and of how Tom seemed to have backed them both against the far wall of their quarters, hemming her in. For some reason she was suddenly extremely on edge, but in a nervous not angry way; it was disconcerting. But still, "Me," she snapped, "I like it. But I might wear it and pay my respects to Jeren before we leave." She goaded.

"Like. Hell." Tom enunciated the words, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "You're my mate, B'Elanna, you wear this dress only for me."

It was very hot in this room. B'Elanna's eyes snapped an equally heated challenge to the man trying to dominate her. "You think so?"

"I know so." Tom moved his hands to rest one each either side her head and leaned in further, "Only me." He kissed her deeply, fiercely.

B'Elanna wasn't objecting; she had been ready for a _fight_, but they didn't have to...she gasped sharply as Tom's teeth suddenly pierced her bottom lip and drew blood. He pulled back but brought his thumb up to caress the tiny pinprick, before raising his thumb to his mouth and with a flick of his tongue licking off the tiny smear; B'Elanna felt the action resonate down to her toes.

"What do you want from me, Paris?" she taunted, feeling the excitement bubbling inside her, restless; the need had never seemed so urgent or compelling.

"Everything." Tom moved swiftly, and once again they kissed passionately, hands roaming and stroking ardently. It was a moment to pull at the bodice of the burgundy dress and B'Elanna shuddered as Tom pushed her back against the wall, arching her neck as he feasted on her throat and fondled her breasts roughly. Her Klingon nature made her the aggressor, the dominator, and Tom had never had any difficulty with that, but…this…was…very…ex-_hiiiiil-er-erating_. She jerked as without warning Tom bit her throat – not nipped, not nibbled, not sucked. It was a proper, Klingon style bite with a full-on 'I'm in charge' challenge. She couldn't resist it anymore than she could have walked through a warp core.

She pushed him violently back with all her strength and he overbalanced slightly, which was all she needed to jump forward and knock them onto the bed. Straddling him she grabbed his arms and held them down. "Everything…think you can handle all of _me_, flyboy?"

"I'm the only man who can," he snarled, jerking with unexpected strength and dislodging her to roll and pin her underneath him. "I love you, B'Elanna, and no smarmy alien is going to put the moves on my woman."

"I love you too, you dunderhead, you should know I'm only interested in you." She didn't have the strength to throw him off again, so she took option B and nipped, though only gently, his left nipple; he hissed and jumped with the pleasure-pain and she was able to reverse their positions again.

Her snapping teeth missed his right nipple by millimetres and she laughed tauntingly – a mistake for his hands grabbed her hips and bodily boosted her up so he could twist them over and be once again on top, but this time he held her down with the weight of his body pressed hard against hers. "No games, B'Elanna," he growled the warning.

"No…" she agreed breathlessly, the glow that turned his eyes almost a cobalt blue igniting an answering fire deep within her.

Their mouths fused again and suddenly he was thrusting powerfully into her body, fast, deep, with almost palpable hunger; she arched up to match him, supporting him with her hips and strong thighs, revelling in every delicious second. They climaxed wildly together and lay in a gasping tangle of sweaty limbs in the middle of the wrecked bed. B'Elanna used a hand to softly comb Tom's hair at his nape as he buried his face in her neck, his ragged breathing finally slowing. She knew the feeling, even having a Klingon's three lungs didn't prevent her needing a little extra air. She could feel faint prickles from various nipped and nibbled body parts, and didn't give a damn. She had marked her mate similarly.

Tom lifted his head, moving one hand to stroke the breast not pressed against his chest. He was still sheathed within his love and he flexed his hips slightly, nearly growling with pleasure at the way her eyelids fluttered closed at the tiny sensations _he_ was giving to her. "I love you, B'Elanna."

She saw the seriousness of his words in his sombre face; he needed to hear the words returned, not in the euphoria of passion but clear and considered, now. "I love you too, Tom. You know I do. I swear; there's nobody else for me. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't flattering but I would never deliberately hurt you. I know I may have flirted a little, and I'm sorry."

He gazed down at her with an adoration that made her heart twist. "I do know…and I know I shouldn't let my insecurities get the better of me…and I was taking you for granted. You're the most important person in my world, B'Elanna. Occasionally you just have to hit me over the head with that fact."

"That I cando."

"I was thinking more metaphorically," he tried to amend.

She gave a little growl and pushed upwards with her hips in an age-old enticement. "I'm not thinking metaphorically now, Paris."

"Me neither." His desire and his body were as rampant as if they'd not just coupled.

They moved together again, just as eagerly and passionately as before, encapsulated in mutual world of renewal and rediscovery. On the dresser, the bloom continued undertake its natural function: when the petals were touched in close turn by a male and female of the same species, to give off a pheromone-laden scent that acted as a powerful aphrodisiac on the male and female of that species, so that their repeated, passionate copulation in the convenient bower of lush blooms served to release and disseminate the flower's seeds over a wide area.

"Captain Janeway," Jeren greeted cheerfully as she entered his store. "I had been told all your purchases were now aboard _Voyager_. Is there anything else you require?"

"Yes, an explanation." Her tone was grim, and behind her Tuvok and Chakotay never let their hands stray far from their phasers.

"Of what, Captain?"

Janeway opened her hand and in her palm rested a small, faintly oscillating holographic image of a flower head in full bloom. "Internal sensors detected an alien biochemical signature early this morning when the concentration became sufficient. It was traced to the quarters of Lieutenants Paris and Torres. When we started asking around, we found that this flower is widely used in this sector as an aphrodisiac by virtue of its method of propagation."

"I see; this is why B'Elanna has not contacted me to say farewell?"

"Neither Tom nor B'Elanna are aware of the bloom's unusual properties," Janeway said, her demeanour clearly implying '_fortunately for you_', "and I have no intention of informing them unless it becomes necessary. What I want is an explanation and an assurance that absolutely no harm –"

"I would never harm B'Elanna or her mate in anyway," interposed Jeren somewhat sharply. "As for an explanation, it was the only way I could think of to thank her for her help; she wouldn't accept a monetary reward."

"I'm afraid I don't see the connection?" Captain Janeway admitted in a more mollified tone.

"I am what you would call…I don't know – asexual? Bisexual? My physiology includes what you would term both 'male' and 'female' sex organs and I procreate thusly. I have only one progenitor. However, I have always found bi-gender species a most interesting form of cultural study."

"You were studying Lieutenants Torres and Paris?" Tuvok enquired.

"Not as such." Jeren smiled. "My species also has some slight telepathic and empathic abilities and I can occasionally pick up certain emotions that an individual may not even be aware of. Admittedly there are exceptions, but my observations have shown me that a lot of bi-gender species function in a similar way, and regrettably sometimes that way includes the decline of a bond between a mated pair until permanent separation is initiated. It is very difficult for a mated pair – all the pressures and concerns of protecting your mate, raising young, providing shelter and food and security. Sometimes sadly an individual gets so wrapped up in dealing with the next crisis that instead of their mate being a valued counsellor and stanchion of support they are classed as just one more problem that requires time you don't have to deal with."

"Is that how B'Elanna and Tom were?" Her animosity forgotten, Janeway asked the question with genuine concern.

"Not by any means," Jeren hastily reassured, "but I did pick up a certain amount of tension. You have a fine crew, Captain, but both B'Elanna and her mate operate under great pressure. He is your pilot, she is your engineer. Between those two roles they bear the greatest burden of hope and responsibility in getting you home, and they feel it deeply."

"I have never attempted to make either of them feel that the weight of _Voyager_ rests entirely on their shoulders," Janeway fretted.

"You don't have to, Captain; a strong sense of personal responsibility is one of those things that, as the saying amongst my people goes, 'separates the _hagosh_ from the _fradal_'. It is difficult enough to be at harmony with your mate when the pressures of daily life intrude, never mind when you are the only representatives of your species, lost a lifetime away from home, simply trying to stay alive and endure interminably in a…'giant tin can'."

"That phrase is going to haunt me all the way to the Alpha Quadrant," muttered Chakotay _sotto voce_.

Jeren explained. "B'Elanna and her mate were tired, they were weary, they took solace in becoming excessively irritated over the little things because raging at the big things wouldn't do any good."

"So you decided to…?"

"Provide a little distraction." Jeren made a semblance of shrug. "I have found that there is nothing like an interloper on the scene to focus an individual's mind on his or her mate."

"So you used the bloom to help things out a little?" Janeway found herself having to suppress a smile.

"Eventually, yes, once I had, how do you say? prepared the groundwork as it were. I have often found that the female of a bi-gender is species is, generally speaking, harder to provoke to direct battle. The female bears the young and is their primary caregiver, and so tends to be far more alert to threats to her union with her mate far sooner. Often she can neutralise these threats before they can develop and even if not, sometimes the war is so subtle that the male has no idea it has even been fought."

"I think that's the nicest way anyone has ever said, _men are stupid_," Chakotay murmured.

Laughter flared in her eyes at Jeren's hasty rebuttal of this statement, but Janeway managed to retain her attitude of faint sternness. "Go on, Jeren?"

He extended his palms outwards in a universal gesture, "Likewise I have found that males tend to be far more direct in their approach; if another male appears on the scene they are liable to take direct and aggressive action. Since time was of the essence, I simply decided to remind Lt Paris of his mate's…er, physical attractiveness…by demonstrating that other males certainly noticed it."

"It worked," Chakotay admitted with a certain level of glee in his tone.

Jeren made a small bow. "B'Elanna felt appreciated and flattered by my compliments, Tom Paris was provoked to jealousy. I knew there would be a confrontation over the issue and utilised the _Idarii_ bloom to ensure their tension was channelled away from violence into a more pleasurable outlet. B'Elanna now feels valued and attractive; Tom Paris will not be so likely in future to take his mate for granted. All is well."

"Well, you may be the most unorthodox relationship counsellor I've ever met, but you're certainly the best." Janeway complimented. "I'll say thank you on their behalf, since I think it best if they don't find out about this."

"B'Elanna does come across as a volatile personality," Jeren commented, causing Tuvok and Chakotay to exchange knowing glances. "But it was an interesting insight into another species' dynamics. I know that your Security Officer Tuvok did wonder how I could afford to charge so little, so I'll let you in on my own secret. I am what you humans would call a dilettante?"

"You do this for fun?" Janeway was surprised.

"In a way; my needs are simple, my wants few. I can still clear my overheads at those prices, but I have always found my customers to be far more fascinating than my wares and the knowledge that they will not be cheated keeps them coming back." Jeren explained.

"You are very wise, Jeren," Janeway admitted wryly.

Satisfied that her crew were in no danger either physically or psychologically, Captain Janeway and her seconds took their leave, back to the ship waiting to once more continue its long journey hopefully home.

Jeren watched the human 'Captain' as she went back, the two males flanking her. She strode with confidence, yet even she was unaware of the strength she projected. It was that strength that surrounded her crew, and made those aboard believe that it was really possible they would get home. She was greatly admired and respected, but also genuinely loved by them.

In more ways than one; Jeren pursed his mouth thoughtfully. He had been truthful, mostly, except that his species' telepathic and empathic powers were far, far stronger than he had admitted. Janeway had no idea she was about the only non-_Hahsar_ to even know they existed. Now he wondered if he should not have made an attempt to bring forth the love between the Captain and the male on her right, the one without the apex-shaped ears. There was such emotion there, on both sides, so deep and tumultuous, yet on both sides so rigorously controlled and ruthlessly suppressed.

After a moment, however, he shook his head. Often those of a bi-gender species did not know their own minds, but in this case, Jeren considered that her attitude towards her beloved was, at least in this place and time, the right one, the only one that was viable. Unfortunately far too few beings these days tended to grasp that sometimes one had to yield to a moral obligation to others rather than personal gratification, that sometimes one's own wants had to be subsumed or postponed for the greater good.

That did not mean it was not a great pity, though. Jeren had been able to examine and grasp a great deal of the history of this species through the thoughts of the Voyager crew and that had enabled him to explore the fascinating Captain's mind to a deep extent. Consciously she had made a decision to protect an innocent species, those 'Ocampa', but on a level so deeply buried within her mind she did not know it and never would, Kathryn Janeway had stranded herself in the Delta Quadrant to protect the male, Chakotay.

Jeren had easily determined that while she had liked her betrothed, the man 'Mark', she had never loved him. Not in the way that B'Elanna human and Tom human loved each other. Nor had the lack been on her side alone. Jeren had gained the impression of a bit of flotsam floating down a quiet stream. They had drifted along with each other because it was convenient and comfortable.

From his mind-scan, Jeren knew that when the Chakotay male had first transmitted himself to her bridge, her reaction to him had been instant and visceral, and to her, deeply disturbing. But she was there to take those humans back to their home, where the hierarchy of their species would imprison them; it was an outcome her primordial self, having already accepted the male as her mate long before her conscious mind acknowledged the attraction, would not tolerate.

Thus, guilt she did not even understand herself had become her constant companion, driving her always to get back home, to restore the people she had brought with her to their families. By the time they returned to their kind, the old divisions amongst her crew would be long forgotten – by most aboard they already were – and the chances of those who had faithfully served her being imprisoned were remote. But she could not allow her heart free reign as long as she and her crew remained here. She needed to command with decisiveness and strategise with clarity; to take Chakotay human as her mate would compromise her ability to lead and also his. She would constantly be second-guessing every decision she made for fear of realising she was putting the life of her mate above that of everyone else.

"_ishaq maher fa_," he murmured the traditional blessing dedicated towards distant travellers, wanderers and the lost amongst his own species. He had helped in his own small way, now he could only hope that the _Voyager_ made it safely home.

© 2005, C D Stewart


End file.
